Things are the Way They Are

In daily prayer I hold up everyone in my family. I try to cover them with God's protection and give thanks for each one. This is a memory feat because I have a big family. Plus we have to cover the friends, the enemies, the pictures in newspaper. You pray for that beautiful young family fleeing Kyrzykstan (sp?) Remember that Flannery O'Connor story where a woman goes to the woods and falls down upon the newspaper praying? That's one kind of coverage, because it all gets a bit much and could go on forever. As a child I solved where-do-you-stop dilemma by "...and God bless everyone in the whole world."

As an adult I learned there is a Buddhist meditation called metta, where you issue blessings intentionally and unconditionally. The practice takes away my need to judge, to parcel out love in proportion to someone's goodness. Simply put, praying makes me feel better. There were times in life I got away from God and if you read my diaries from those days (which I sincerely hope you never will), you find the same sturms and drangs as now, only lacking the consolations of prayer. Prayer also alleviates that sense of powerlessness. When you see a picture of a blue heron trying to shake off BP's oil, when an old friend of youth dies unexpectedly, or when you can't do anything about someone you love who is depressed-- even if you can't do anything else you can still pray; then you feel less ineffectual. Even if you can't write, if you're lacking topic sentences and conclusions, you can pray.

Some say prayer doesn't change anything external but only the person praying. Well that is so not true. I look around and give thanks to see so many answers to my prayers. An African song, which is on a CD in this cluttered study somewhere, goes "Things are the way they are because our grandmothers prayed."

I assume that means things would be worse if g'mas didn't. Go, grandmas, you have a lot to do.